


Clinching

by thesaddestboner



Series: celebration!porn [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Cigars, Detroit Tigers, Established Relationship, M/M, Not Beta Read
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-24
Updated: 2013-11-24
Packaged: 2018-01-02 13:42:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1057444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesaddestboner/pseuds/thesaddestboner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>After the party’s mostly died off and the clubbies have started to pull down the champagne-drenched tarps, Rick grabs Max by the hands and starts trying to drag him around the nubby visitors’ clubhouse carpet on his stomach.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clinching

**Author's Note:**

> Well, this is unfinished and I don't really want to stick it in the "celebration!porn" series since there's no actual porn but I haven't finished anything in over a month so this is where we are now. It doesn't even get a real title!
> 
> Technically a ~follow-up~ to [this other thing](http://archiveofourown.org/works/297504).
> 
> I handwaved Max’s lovely fiancée away, but know that she is awesome in real life and responsible for [these](http://nullrefer.com/?http://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/bvewuorccaaye3z-jpg-large.jpeg).
> 
> Also I am so happy [this](http://nullrefer.com/?http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7ow1rFDQEE) exists. And [this](http://nullrefer.com/?http://dekeysersoze.files.wordpress.com/2013/09/screen-shot-2013-09-26-at-12-20-25-pm.png).
> 
> You can find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/thesaddestboner) and [tumblr](http://saddestboner.tumblr.com).

After the party’s mostly died off and the clubbies have started to pull down the champagne-drenched tarps, Rick grabs Max by the hands and starts trying to drag him around the nubby visitors’ clubhouse carpet on his stomach. Max just goes limp and presses his face in the carpet to hide his laughter because Rick just starts cursing and calling him “difficult.”

“What are you even doing?” Max rolls onto his back and blinks up at the ceiling, eyes stinging with that non-alcoholic champagne they got so Miggy and Victor’s kid could celebrate with the rest of them.

“Fuck you, I was trying to... I don’t know,” Rick slurs, swaying over Max, a bottle of the real stuff clutched in one of his hands.

Max sits up and holds out his hands, waggling his fingers. “Gimme, gimme.”

Rick looks at the bottle in his hand, and then Max. “I guess I’ll share. Since I’m nice.” He thrusts the bottle into Max’s hands and plops down on the wet, squishy carpet next to him. He pulls out a plastic-wrapped cigar—from somewhere, Max isn’t sure and doesn’t care because, hey, _champagne_!—and a plastic neon pink lighter.

Max takes a swig right from the bottle. “Smoking’ll kill ya.”

Rick rips off the plastic and bites the end of the cigar off, as he pulls a disgusted face and spits it on the carpet. “Shut up, Mom.”

“If I’m your mom, that makes you my son,” Max points out, feeling very wise.

Rick looks at him, cigar dangling from between his lips— _very attractively_ , Max thinks—and barks out a laugh. “You’re seriously, like, the drunkest guy on the team and you haven’t even had any of the real stuff yet.”

“Oh, I’m drunk, Ricky. Drunk on how amazeballs my life is,” Max says, grinning widely at him. 

Because it really is. He just won his twenty-first game and maybe pitcher wins don’t really carry the weight and prestige they used to, but Max thinks it’s still pretty fucking neat. Twenty-one wins, and a division championship, maybe even a Cy Young and a World Series. Not bad at all.

“Amazeballs. Did you really just say that?” Rick lights his cigar and starts puffing away. He blows a ring of smoke in Max’s face.

“Yeah, I did. Wanna make somethin’ of it?” Max reaches over and tries to snatch away Rick’s cigar, but Rick holds it over his head and slaps Max’s hand away.

“Ew, no. Get off. You’re all sticky and gross,” Rick gasps, coughing out a cloud of cigar smoke.

Verlander takes that moment to pad out of the showers, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, shower shoes slapping obnoxiously on the tightly-packed visitors’ clubhouse carpet.

“Get a room.” Verlander glides off to his locker stall regally.

“Put some clothes on before you blind us all with your pasty white ass,” Max fires back.

“Screw you. I’m not pasty.” Verlander drops his towel, as if to make a point, and preens in front of his locker like a pasty white peacock before putting on boxers.

Max nudges Rick in the side with his elbow. “You wanna?”

“Wanna what?” Rick asks. He curls his lips into an ‘O’ and blows out a ring of smoke at the ceiling.

Max drops his voice down low. “Get a room.”

“I have a room. Back at our hotel,” Rick points out.

“And so do I. I was speaking metaphori—oh, screw off. Let’s get showered and go back to the hotel, okay?” Max huffs.

Rick grins at him, eyes crinkling in the corners. “Sounds like a plan.”

-

Max practically drags Rick down the hall to his hotel room, passing a teammate here and there on their way, and it must look so fucking obvious what’s about to happen, but whatever. 

Verlander has the room next to Max, though, and his door is open. He comes out into the hallway, can of Miller Lite clutched in hand, and just grins obnoxiously at the two of them until Max successfully gets his key card through the lock—on his third try—and ushers Rick into his room and slams the door shut behind them.

“We’ll have to be super quiet,” Max whispers loudly, as he dumps Rick off on the bed and starts stripping out of his clothes right there in the middle of the hotel room.

Rick looks up at him through heavy-lidded eyes. “Huh? Why? Why are you whispering?”

“Ver’s next door,” Max says, kicking off his shoes.

“Like he’s never heard two people going at it before. He can just turn up the volume on his TV,” Rick says, lying on his back in bed.

Max flops over him and buries his face in the side of Rick’s neck, which is still damp from his shower. “Mmph.”

Rick slides a hand into Max’s hair. “Yeah?” 

“Take your clothes off,” Max says.

“ _You_ take my clothes off.” Rick rubs his fingers in Max’s hair in slow circles.

Max says, “I’m not taking your clothes off,” but he does anyway because he’s such a nice guy.

Once Rick’s clothes are in a heap on the floor, Max rolls onto him and goes limp and boneless again, skin sliding against skin, bodies slotting together perfectly. He pushes his face into Rick’s neck, and Rick drapes his arms around him.

**Author's Note:**

> The author of this piece intends no insult, slander, or copyright infringement, and is not profiting from this work. This story is a complete work of fiction and does not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. This is for entertainment purposes only. If you found this story while Googling your name or the names of your friends, hit the back button now.


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